


Like To Have a Ride, Father?

by MissVoltara



Series: The Soldier and The Priest [1]
Category: Journal d'un curé de campagne | The Diary of a Country Priest - Georges Bernanos
Genre: Boys In Love, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, France (Country), Gay, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Priest Kink, Priests, References to Illness, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissVoltara/pseuds/MissVoltara
Summary: While on the road to Mezargues, the priest of Ambricourt meets the notorious Monsieur Olivier.
Relationships: Priest of Ambricourt/Monsieur Olivier
Series: The Soldier and The Priest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143953
Kudos: 1





	Like To Have a Ride, Father?

**Author's Note:**

> I recently finished reading The Diary of a Country Priest by Georges Bernanos and all I got out of it was the idea for this fanfic. Sorry Mr. Bernanos, I made your characters gay.

The young priest of Ambricourt had coughed up blood again yesterday much to his behest. Having ignored the pains in his abdomen for quite some time, the hemorrhaging was a fairly recent development. The pain caused him to have an abysmal appetite and rendered him to meals of bread and wine; the only food he could stomach at that point, he lamented. Even so, he stubbornly did nothing about it and wrote it off.

He lost weight and his complexion was pale. He wondered if his late mother could see him, wherever she may be, and if she disapproved of his prideful nature. No doubt she would scold him for neglecting his health so badly but she was long dead and the priest fancied himself a fool for bothering with the thought.

He wondered if the townspeople pitied him. They always have been hostile to him which never failed to bother him as he could never figure out a reason why. His poor state of health must have turned their scorn for him into pity as he deteriorated in front of their very eyes. The young priest found himself becoming more guarded with his parishioners after several encounters that led to misunderstandings and a poor repute among the people in Ambricourt. He was baffled as to what he could have done to earn their suspicion and intense dislike. He had always been reserved and guarded around others, a childhood spent in poverty will do that, but he had no ill will regardless of how others interpreted his quiet nature.

No doubt the Cure de Torcy would have a few choice words for him.

The young priest of Ambricourt squared his shoulders against such thoughts and focused on his long walk to Mezargues. He already wasted enough of his time with his prideful thoughts and his useless scribbling in his diary. The same diary that he vowed over and over again to destroy and yet never did.

The persistent hum of a motor could be heard off in the distance, its sound growing and fading as its rider rode through the various bends in the road. It was probably Monsieur Olivier, whose real name was Teville-Sommerange. He was the nephew of Madame la Comtesse at the Chateau in town and was always the subject of gossip among the elderly. He was troublesome, they always said, and had to be sent to the military at the tender age of eighteen to discipline him. The young priest had met him a few times before and his breath hitched at the thought of Olivier.

A loud roar came from behind him as the motor-bike crested the hill he had just walked down. Startled, the priest jumped out of the way and looked around, his frail heart nearly jumping out of his chest. There was a screech of brakes and the wheels skidding on the road as the rider of the motor-bike coasted it closer to the priest. He had half a mind to scold the rider for startling him so badly and looked the stranger in the eye.

Oh. It was Olivier after all.

Olivier had some of the palest eyes the priest had ever seen. It was difficult to tell if they were blue or gray since he was standing too far away to tell for certain, but the priest was enchanted regardless. Olivier was wearing a gray sweater and was bare headed so that his blond hair caught the afternoon sun. Olivier was riding a beautiful, red, German motor-bike, it's pristine metallic surface glittering in the sun. The bike and Olivier made the priest and his cassock look quite dreary in comparison.

Olivier had a quiet and thoughtful face which graced the priest with a friendly smile.

"Like to have a ride, Father?" He asked.

The priest nearly swooned. Olivier's voice was both soft and determined. The priest remembered voices better than he could remember people's faces, and he knew he certainly wouldn't be forgetting Olivier's voice anytime soon. It would be a voice he would treasure.

"Why not, monsieur?" The priest said giddily.

"Where are you going, Father?"

"To Mezargues."

"Ever had a lift on one of these?"

The priest laughed and shook his head. He admired the bike and ran his hand down the surface of the tank in admiration. Perhaps it was ridiculous but the priest was filled with such a child-like sense of joy as he took in the sight of both the bike and its rider.

Olivier appeared taken aback by the priest, likely not expecting someone so sullen to accept his offer so happily, but he grinned regardless.

"Aren't you afraid?" Olivier teased.

"No. Why should I be afraid?"

"No reason."

The priest of Ambricourt clumsily climbed onto the back of the seat. It was a little uncomfortable but the priest didn't mind it so much. Olivier looked back to ensure that his passenger was secure before gunning the engine.

And they were off. The priest couldn't tell the distance they had covered but they kept gaining speed. The priest wondered if Olivier was speeding in an attempt to show off or to frighten him.

The priest held onto Olivier and leaned back enough to feel the wind in his face and hair. He smiled broadly. He cared not for the vicious and petty drama of his parish, nor for Cure le Torcy's patronizing means of speaking to him nor of his illness, he only cared for the man in front of him and how carefree and childishly joyful he felt. Maybe God had decided to bless him with a good day after all.

He laughed freely as the French countryside zipped passed him. His attitude must have surprised Olivier as he too laughed in amusement and shook his head fondly. The priest wanted to reach out and touch the air rushing over him but decided against it; he was a fool but not that foolish.

They passed Mezargues but the priest cared very little. It would take him an hour on foot to walk back but he would simply have to deal with that later.

The two rode back to the presbytery and the priest allowed Olivier entry into his home against his better judgement. The young priest fought off embarrassment as he realized that he had little food and no good wine to offer his handsome visitor. Nonetheless, he and Olivier lit a log fire in the fireplace and Olivier took out a cigarette to smoke once they were seated.

Olivier lamented that it was a shame that they couldn't go for another leisure ride since he would be leaving town the next day and the young priest balked at the idea. Not only would the townspeople gossip about him but he wasn't sure if his nerves could handle being so close to Olivier again. He wistfully wondered if he would see Olivier again and if he would still even be alive when the handsome soldier returned.

"I like you very much," Olivier said. "We should have been friends."

"I, your friend?" The priest asked dumbly.

"Sure. And it's not because I don't know enough about you. They're always talking about you over at the Chateau."

The priest's heart sunk. "Unfavourably?"

"Somewhat. My cousin's a regular bitch. A real Sommerange, she is."

Olivier's family may have had a poor opinion of the priest but judging by the anger in Olivier's voice, he strongly disagreed with his family. The priest couldn't be sure though, he had to know. The other man's opinion was important to him.

"Tell me what you think of me....."

Olivier looked at the priest warmly. "If it wasn't for that black sheath, you'd be like any one of us. I saw that at first glance."

The priest's heart skipped a beat. "You don't mean that --?"

"Yes, I _do_ mean that."

Olivier began to speak at length about his time in the military and of God. The holy man did his best to keep up with Olivier and only interjected when he felt it was necessary. He admired the visage of the man seated next to him as he spoke, allowing his voice to wash over him. He was content to just listen to Olivier speak of whatever the man wanted to share. If Olivier wanted to reveal the harsh and brutal world of soldiering to the priest than he would listen. The priest never had much dealings with soldiers, they always seemed like a primitive, blasphemous lot.

Olivier threw his cigarette into the cinders of the fire, looking sorrowful and forlorn. The young priest restrained the urge to reach out to Olivier and stroke his hair or simply touch his face. He quickly retreated into himself, however, as sorrow in others always made him shy. What a fool he was being. He shouldn't allow himself to be so besotted with Olivier, not when such feelings were sinful and he suspected that God was going to cut his life short anyway.

Olivier turned and fixed the priest in his gaze again. Olivier had a habit of doing that, staring at the priest, sizing him up. The young cleric wondered what he was thinking.

The priest's stomach fluttered as Olivier looked at him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had treated him so kindly and spoke to him as a trusted friend. His heart already had gained a liking for Olivier and this filled him with overwhelming sadness. The priest didn't think he had a long life ahead of him, not with the way his body was falling apart. He was frightened to go to a doctor for fear of what they might tell him but the priest was not stupid, though he was young and inexperienced, he knew his pain and bleeding were omens of something he likely would never recover from. He felt so sick all the time, he was lonely and his memory was increasingly more muddled but the short time he had spent with Olivier made him forget all of that.

The young priest covered his face with one hand in an attempt to hide the tears that threatened to fall. He was appalled at himself for weeping in front of Olivier, what must he think of him? Olivier gently moved his hand away from his face, seated closer than he had been before, never removing his intense pale blue gaze from the frail priest. The priest blushed and waited for a smile of scorn or a look of pity, fearing the pity more than anything. He didn't know if he would be able to handle Olivier pitying him.

"You're a good lad," Olivier said at last. "I wouldn't like any priest but you around when I was dying."

Before the young priest could formulate a response, Olivier leaned in and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Olivier's placed a hand on the priest's lower back to pull him flush against him. His hands sensually caressed the priest's body, causing the cleric to gasp as he surrendered to the sensation.

The priest's head was spinning and he gripped Olivier's upper arms as he clumsily tried to return the kiss. He could taste the nicotine from Olivier's cigarette but didn't mind it. He was grateful he was already seated as his legs were rendered weak and he doubted he would have been able to stand. Olivier quietly groaned in the back of his throat and the sound sent a wave of heat through the priest's body, down to his groin.

Olivier finally parted from the kiss with a meek smile on his face. The priest's sickly complexion made the blush that spread from his cheeks and across his face appear all the more intense. Olivier gently brushed a few lose strands of hair off of the priest's forehead and cupped his thin face in his hand.

No one had ever kissed him like that before. No one had ever touched him like that before. He battled between the euphoria he had gotten from Olivier's touch and immense guilt and shame that threatened to stamp out any soft feelings he had. What they were doing was sinful and he had to put a stop to it before temptation made his convictions fail him completely.

"Olivier..." The priest wheezed. "We-we can't. It's not right...."

Olivier ran his thumb over the priest's bottom lip, looking thoughtful. He glanced at the priest's mouth before he looked him in the eye.

"That may be so....."

Olivier kissed him again. This time the priest was more confidant and rested his hands on Olivier's broad chest, relishing the hard muscle under his hands. The priest broke off the kiss slowly, feeling like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice.

Olivier cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't you have somewhere to go?"

"Oh," The priest withdrew his hands and wrung them in his lap. "Yes. Yes I did."

Olivier smiled in amusement though his eyes were melancholic. "Where to? I'll give you a lift there."

"To-to Mezargues." The priest avoided looking directly at Olivier, willing his body to calm down.

The two men stood and walked to the door after putting out the fire. Olivier touched the priest's lower back as they walked and the touch sent a pleasurable tingle up his spine.

The priest climbed back onto the motor-bike and hugged Olivier from behind. He didn't want to say goodbye to the man but he knew he had to. Olivier gave one of the priest's hands an affectionate squeeze before he drove them back down the way they came.

The priest smiled wistfully and enjoyed one last ride with Olivier.


End file.
